Don't you forget about me
by ipodder
Summary: You smile, despite the situation. Despite the fact that both of you have been staring at eachother, mutely, for the past five minutes without breaking eye contact. He’s not saying anything, but he’s here. Brulian. Completed.
1. You found me

**Hey guys, this three chapter story was inspired by episode 6x12, I was re-watching the Brooke/Julian scenes and suddenly this came out of nowhere. Please give it a chance and review! Thanks.**

'Why did you do it?' Your voice was dry and tired. You're washed out, literally unclean. Your usually slick hair is slightly fuzzy, and your lips are chapped. But the way he's looking at you right now, with his cocky eyes, makes you feel like the beautiful woman on earth.

He doesn't say anything. The smirk that is always permanent is nowhere to be seen. His lips are sealed tight, as if he's physically stopping himself from speaking. He's sitting opposite you, on your bed. Your bed that hasn't been nursing anybody but you, for quite a long while now. You're in your silky white robe and slippers, but you're still unshowered, unclean and washed out. He shrugs and unbuttons the fourth button on his crispy striped shirt, as if the awkward tension is making him uncomfortable.

You know he's uncomfortable. Of coure you do. You are both practically the same. Although you've grown out of it since highschool, the bitchy façade is still up strong sometimes, the same with his witty, cocky jerkiness. You don't really mind that he's purposely ignoring your question, because his eyes are still glued to yours. He wants you to feel intimidated, exposed, vulnerable under his supposed glare.

You know he's trying to pretend to read you. Of course you do. You are both practically the same. He's trying the whole frowny, squinty face that only Lucas Scott can pull off. But you know that he knows that you know he's just pretending, faking, lying. He can already read you, understand you, decode you, probably write a whole character analysis paper on you. You also know that the only reason Lucas Scott constantly has that look on his face, is because most of the time, he doesn't have a clue. He didn't have a clue that you were attacked, that Peyton is battling her inner demons, and that Julian Baker isn't actually the villan. Lucas always places things in boxes, he catergorises, ticks the appropriate boxes and then makes a firm decision. Simply because Julian is a charming man with witty words and a past with Peyton, Lucas instantly files him in the bad guy box. No wonder he's such a bore now, you muse.

You smile, despite the situation. Despite the fact that both of you have been staring at eachother, mutely, for the past five minutes without breaking eye contact. He's not saying anything, but he's _here_.

That's all that matters to you, frankly. It doesn't bother you that he's drumming his fingers on his designer jeans, like a little boy with a short attention span. You know he's doing it for a show, just like how you sometimes do your pout. You both lie, pretend and hide your gigantic, giving hearts.

But don't tell anybody that. It's a secret.

You're impatient now. He's still sitting on your bed, eyes moulding into yours. You don't think he's challenging you anymore, he's _sympathetic_. You need to hear him _say it_. Say that he's a decent guy, and _then_ she will swallow her pride and say thanks.

And actually mean it.

You raise one eyebrow, 'Would you like some coffee?"

He actually smiles. For one slight moment, you wonder how he's going to charm his way out of it. His eyebrow raises to match yours, as if he knows that you know.

'Sure.'

For someone as talkative as him, it's pretty shocking he doesn't elaborate further. You're still glaring at eachother, back to _the game _now.

'How would you like it?' Normally, a question like that would be followed by a nurturing smile, a nod and perhaps a 'right away'. But when you say it this time, it's almost a threat, a challenge, a chance to twist and turn this damn rubik cube of a man.

He stands, finally making some kind of movement.

'I don't know, how everybody else takes it?'

You nod and supress a smirk, despite the situation. He knows that you've figured him out.

'How did that waitress make it then?'

Caught. Like a deer in the headlights. But he's still trying so hard to grasp what's left of his shattered façade, you curse yourself and _him _for thinking it's pretty damn adorable.

He shrugs. Again. Goddamnit he's irritating.

But _adorable._

'You've figured it out priss. Well done. You should have studied psychology, you know that?'

You smile. 'That doesn't explain why you did it, stoner.'

He shrugs again, as if that will answer everything.

'I don't think it matters. Doesn't change the fact that I still did it.'

But it does, he knows it does.

Just then, your phone rings and your heart skips a beat.

'It's her.' you whisper.

He's standing still, not saying anything, not smirking, not shrugging, not tapping.

But what he is doing, is stepping closer to you, too close.

As you tearfully, frantically try to reason with Sam, pleading her to come home, he's stepping even closer to you, so close that our faces are nearly touching.

And then as Sam tearfully agrees to come home. you let out a relieved sigh and a broken smile.

His face is still so damn close, and if the circumstances were different, you would have been creeped out .

you thought he was going to kiss you, or even elope you in a hug.

But because he's trying so hard to be unpredictable that it's getting predictable.

He chooses to rest his forehead against yours, and wrapped your smaller hands into his.

And you curse youself and _him_ for thinking it's pretty damn adorable.


	2. The devil in me

Last week seemed like a year ago. When you were feeling so content leaning against him, shedding your tears onto his button down. Things went by so fast it felt like a blur, a fast forward of someone else's life.

Someone else's life that you would be glad to live in.

Sam returned, and the first thing she said to me was, ' I think Jack's brother beat you and murdered Q.'

You remember going slightly dizzy.

You _try _ to forget how he suddenly reached out from behind, and took you into his arms.

You _try _to forget the heartbroken glance on his face when you slapped him for going to the police.

But you can't, because the memory is still there, so fresh, so _raw_.

'_Brooke, please, you've got to do this. For yourself, for Sam, for your friends. Even for Jamie. Please Brooke.'_

_You know you should report this, to finally give everyone the closure they need. The closure that you need._

_But you can't, it's too hard._

_Imagine your surprise, or lack thereof, if you're being completely honest, when three police officers ring your doorbell, and behind them is a nervous, dishelved Julian Baker. You know he wants to look remorseful, regretful, sad, but you know he's not. _

_All he said was, 'I'm not going to apologize for wanting to protect you.'_

_And despite the situation, you can't help but think that this line was the most romantic line you've ever heard of in your life._

_But once the police left, you walk over to him, and slap him. _

_Hard. _

_You instantly remembered a large custom made ring on your right finger. _

_His face was heartbroken. But you both know it wasn't from the pain of your ring, of your slap, but more from the sheer pain of not getting anything in return. _

_His eyes water slightly and you're amazed._

_You take a tentative step that places you directly infront of him and take off your ring, your watering eyes glued to his broken, watering ones. The ring falls to the floor and you whisper an 'I'm so fucking sorry'. Your lips are so close to his right now and you're almost breathing the same air. He's not moving and you know the ball is in your court now. Your right hand lightly brushes his red cheek and you stroke it slightly, automatically wiping his falling tears. Both of your facades are shattered and both of you can't be bothered to break off your glances to pick it up. Then you placed your lips on his, almost too forcefully. He instantly wraps his hands around your head and opens his mouth, allowing your tongue to dominate his. It's a furious kiss, open mouthed and messy, slobbery, both tongues battling to dominate the other, and you can't help but wonder if he's trying to redeem himself for the tears earlier. His hands are still tangled in your hair and you bite his upper lip so hard you sure it's bleeding. Your hands are on his hips, grazing the skin that seperates the jeans and the vintage t shirt slightly. Suddenly, he plunges his tongue into your mouth and retreats as quickly as he entered. Then he pushes you away, literally._

'_I'm not that guy, Brooke.'_

_And then you think you now understand what it means._

_He's not that guy who has no heart, he's a vulnerable, sensitive jerk who can't have a physical connection wihtout the emotional one. Your heart is racing, you'r turned on and your lip is bleeding._

'_I'm not using you. Not like her.'_

_And you're not sure why he took it. But he did. It wasn't the best thing you could have said but he took it. He always takes it._

_A second later, his lips are back on yours and you're the one who pulls away._

' _I mean it. I'm not using you.'_

You're together now. You think.

Nathan and Haley understand it, and you think somehow they've always did, even when you don't say anything. Lucas and Peyton don't, but somehow, for once, you can't bring yourself to be concerned.

'_Peyton, I'm sorry okay? But it just happened. The night Sam ran away, it just happened.'_

_Peyton rolls her eyes. 'Brooke, you're my best friend and I just want to make sure that he's not doing this..' she pauses, and you're certain that she's battling over whether to sound completely self absorbed, or concerned, or both. 'For the publicity of the movie. You know, US Weekly reports, producer comes to make a movie, fall for the designer who happens to be a real life version of a character in the movie, they have an angsty, passionate bond and falls in love. You know what I mean?'_

_You roll your eyes and feel offended by the reduction of your relationship._

'_No Peyton', you snap, 'I don't know what you mean. And for the record, not everything revolves around Lucas's damn book, alright?'_

Every night he comes to your place and looks tired, sad and you notice the dark circles under his eyes, clouding his handsome features. You place your hand on his and kisses his forehead.

It's your way of apologizing to him, for dragging him into this, into Lucas's condecending, untrusting squint, a frown that you know hurts him. His intentions towards you are pure, and it hurts him to know that his motives are being questioned.

One night, after a light dinner and a bottle of merlot, he puts on a white t shirt and a fresh pair of boxers and climb into your bed. You place a chaste kiss on his lips and before he drifts off to sleep, you hear him mutter.

'I don't blame you for any of it, princess.'


	3. It's in the way

You're all at Naley's house for dinner. Jamie has already fallen asleep, thanks to Sam's re-telling of her newest short film concept. It's moments like these that makes you really think about your life. At sixteen, you envisioned something so different, but now, at twenty three, you can't imagine it being anything else.

Lucas and Peyton are re-telling their light hearted banter of baby names, purposely stressing on how they have a perfect, traditional family.

You know they think yours is as dysfunctional as they come.

When Lucas excuses himself to the bathroom, you instantly follow him.

'You could be a little more grateful, you know?'

He squints, but this time I know he _knows _exactly what I'm implying.

'If it wasn't for Julian's interest in your novel, you wouldn't be here right now. Swapping funny stories of baby names, dressing Peyton in designer shoes. You would be brooding over little Scott's college tuition. So Jesus Luke, be a bit more grateful.'

He nods. But you know that his nods don't mean the same as Julian's does.

I start to walk back when he calls my name. Always wanting the last word, Lucas.

'Brooke…' He doesn't finish, and I turn to face him, my face cold.

'Don't make me choose Luke, don't make me choose between him and you guys.'

Because you're actually scared of what you might give up for him.

Everything.

You're not surpised to find out that the whole table heard your conversation.

But you're surprised that after only three months, he tells you that he loves you.

He begs you not to say it back, because he wants you to tell him on your own terms.

You know he's leaving soon, the movie is wrapping up.

And it scares the hell out of you, because after this, everything will be unleased. The gang, you, him, your relationship, your emotions. Sam will miss him terribly too.

Two months later, you're more jumpy, fretty, nervous.

Because _the day_ is approaching.

But one morning, over Sam's waffles, your coffee and his hot tea, he brings up the topic of Peyton's artwork. You wonder why the hell he even brought it up. But you go along with it anyway.

'Do you remember the one with the traffic lights, the really emo one?'

Despite the situation, you let out a low chuckle and nod.

'Yeah, _people always leave_.' He pauses for effect and you have no idea why this random conversation on a Saturday morning feels like such a metaphorical one.

'Well, I think that's bullshit, don't you agree?"

And you can't help but find his totally predictable effort to be unpredictable, so adorable.

**That's it guys. Thanks to whoever's reading this! I hope you've enjoyed it. Please leave some feedback/consructive criticism.**


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